


Ocean-Born

by ingve9 (vetiverite)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Developing Relationship, M/M, New Zealand, Selkie!Boyd, Selkies and their enablers, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-19 23:31:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17011239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/ingve9
Summary: What looked like a wetsuit in the trunk of Dom's car is something else entirely.  Bill would very much like it back, please.





	Ocean-Born

**Author's Note:**

> This is the only one of my own fics I didn't destroy when I swam away from LOTR fandom/fic writing 12 years ago. It's kind of like my lost sealskin; when I found it again, I wished with all my heart I could wrap myself in it and visit the sea again. So, here's a repost and a hope that the ocean will take me back.

Now that I know everything, I can be candid with you. I suspected you from the start, Bills. 

Your eyes first, I suppose. Your tiny, lightfingered hands. Little habits of yours; little lies— honestly, what kind of alleged bookbinder would treat books the way you do, destroying them a page at a time? And then that masterpiece of a backstory— parents who'd died; a sister never once photographed.

Me, I was never fooled.

Our first script meeting, do you remember? My introduction to your cruel, sweet, eldritch laugh. I couldn't help the pleasure your voice gave me — that lyrical tide pulling me toward a far horizon — but you caught me listening to you with my eyes closed, and that's when the mocking started. I should have known by the style of your ridicule, Bills. Your sort may occasionally take mercy on mine, but one thing you never are is kind.

You must have sussed out my Sight, though, because whenever I looked too closely at you, you summoned swirls of distractions to keep me deceived. For a while, your misdirections even had me suspecting Elwood. With those celestial eyes, anyone might fall prey to doubt. I'm sure he still can't sort out why I kept leaving all those quaint gifts on his doorstep— whiskey and silver coins and _violettes des sorciers_. Probably thinks I was making a play for him.

And you all along with that cream-besotted cat-grin on your face, pleased as punch at my befuddlement. _Glamoury_ is, after all, a Scots word.

What threw me off your scent the most, I suppose, was your love of salt. The Folk generally detest it; carry it into their territories, and you'd think from all the fuss that you were toting around arsenic. But _you,_ you adored it. You'd spill it on the table at the cafe just so that you could lick your finger and pick up the grains.

Only one type of faerie would dare do that.

 

Maybe it’s in the blood, I don’t know. I’ve seen the Folk all my life. On scenic highways, in empty lots, on city streetcorners— people think they're only to be found in the countryside, but that's not so. They're everywhere. I see them.

And usually I pray to Christ they don't see me.

Every country calls them differently. In Germany they were called— god, what? It’s been so long. _Wichtlein,_ I think— _little wights._ Elsewhere, they're _the Folk, the Good Neighbors, the Hidden People, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts,_ but what do these names matter? Like anything of human origin, such titles are meaningless drivel to them. And what they call themselves, I've never learned.

Not very forthcoming, the little bastards.

 _Hooo, wait a sec,_ Elijah said the one time I tried to explain it to him. _Aren't they supposed to appear out of nowhere and kick your ass now for being disrespectful?_

_If they feel like it, they'll kick your ass whether you're respectful or not,_ I corrected him. _I respect them more than most, and I've never gotten punished for calling it as I see it._

_Well, maybe they LIKE you._

_Doubt it. But I suppose they respect my honesty. Even THEY enjoy hearing the truth now and again— though I wouldn't make a policy of speaking it to them._

_'Little bastards', huh,_ Elijah mused. _Sure beats an eternity of being thought of as a sparkly bit of lightweight fluff._

He would know.

Anyway, the _wichtlein_ — butchest bunch of faeries in town; definitely neither sparkly nor lightweight. Little tossers shook me down every day for the lunch Mum'd packed for me; otherwise, I wasn't permitted to cross their corner of the playground. Three important things to know about the _wichtlein:_ they've got phenomenal throwing arms. They fight dirty. And they really enjoy a good curried egg sandwich.

One rainy afternoon (after the ritual forking-over of the lunchbox) they deigned to join me under my umbrella for a bit of, em, _small talk_. They asked me where I'd got my atrocious accent, utterly unlike that of any of the other tasty, fat _kinder_ they’d left in piles of clean-picked bones behind the bike stand.

It was wise of me not to smile.

 _I'm not really one of the_ kinder, I told them. _I'm sort of... transplanted. Like a flower out of its home soil._

They all nodded sagely.

 _Like us,_ they said.

Don't think that warm, fuzzy moment lasted long. Immediately after, I caught a lecture on how I oughtn't to put on airs just because I knew their paths and hiding places. In the olden days, on certain nights of the year, peasants used to tremble in fear at the sound of their footsteps. They'd once ruled the tops of mountains; whole forests had been sacred to them alone. So what if all they had _at the moment_ was this city playground? That shouldn't suggest they'd _fallen in the world._

To prove it, they nicked my umbrella and left me dripping in the downpour.

 

I'll be the first to tell you that the Sight hardly makes you special. It doesn't mean you've been chosen, or that you've done something right— and it sure as hell doesn't mean that you're _lucky._ On the contrary: for the privilege of catching one fateful glimpse, you might find yourself blinded or led astray, a prisoner at the Folk's dubious mercy. And they've never been known to pull a punch in the old unjust-punishment department.

They hate being _found out_ , is all. And god help you if they think you're going to tell on them.

Living with the Folk is like being in love with someone you don't dare speak to. Maybe they're unavailable or out of your league; maybe you're all too aware that they despise you. Sentimental declarations would be most unwelcome, so you stay silent, linger on the edge of their company, and remain discreet. Perhaps someday — if you do an efficient-enough job of fading into the wallpaper — they might condescend to acknowledge your existence.

You learn not to expect red roses and rapture.

But if they're offered to you— you never, ever refuse.

 

I confess I thought nothing of it at first. It looked just like neoprene, if a little shinier, more iridescent. It felt like and had the weight of a wetsuit, so I picked it off the floor of your closet and chucked it in my car. If you recall, you’d gone ahead to the beach with Elijah, and I thought you’d forgotten it. Reckoned I’d be your hero if I delivered it to you by hand.

Only I missed you at the beach, and I forgot all about it. So it stayed in the boot of my car all this month.

The best, worst, strangest, happiest, most unbearable month of my life.

Do you remember that very first night, Bills? I do. I could tell right off that something had changed. You weren't cheeky with me anymore. You didn't speak, didn't laugh. Yet you stuck by my side all night as if tethered there by invisible twine. Now, I know full well I'm not that mesmerizing a companion, but the way you kept looking at me... the way your eyes clung to my mouth as if every utterance had you hypnotized... this was new.

Your look bespoke deep hunger, deep thirst. That I might be chosen to quench these needs— I hardly dared think I could be so lucky.

At evening's end, though you'd had nothing to drink, you abandoned your own car on a Wellington side street and rode beside me in mine. You were distant, your eyes resigned. I kept taking my eyes off the road to look at the soft, pained expression on your face, and I know you'll call me daft for saying this. But I thought that maybe it was because you finally loved me back.

Crazy, I know.

I took you home with me, but you refused to leave the car until I came around to lift you out. The second I set you on your own two feet, you slipped through my arms and hit the sidewalk like something deprived of its bones. Though it must have hurt, you made no sound until I knelt down to gather you up. Your arms slid around my neck — god, I remember that; no amount of your magic will ever strike it from my mind — and it was then that you finally stopped looking at my mouth.

As I carried you all the way to my bed, your eyes never once left mine.

You wore me paper-thin that night. Your mouth tireless, your hands relentless, your limbs winding about me like the sweetest of prison chains. On and on, drowning in you, battered by your passion and drawn down into its depths-- every day, every night for a month, you've made me so happy.

So happy I forgot everything I knew.

So happy I missed all the signs that might have tipped me off to the truth of you.

 

I'm begging you to believe me, Bills. For all I suspected you, I honestly didn't _guess_. If I had, you know I'd never have kept you like this. I'd have set you free that night, and your choice would have been your own. _Faerie love breaks the human heart,_ the old tales say, but the reverse is also true. We both know that now. And I'm sorry, so sorry for it.

Thank Elijah; in his own unwitting way, he helped me realize. This morning in the canteen, he complained, _Bill never wants to go surfing anymore._ And I thought he was just sulking about how much time you and I had been spending together.

 _Sure, he does,_ I scoffed. _He went with you last week, didn't he?_

 _No,_ said Elwood softly. _He's been with you, as usual._ He nibbled fretfully at one of his fingernails, then burst out, _Not that I'm jealous._

 _A likely story, Boy Wonder,_ I smirked, then stopped at the look on his face. _El, I'm sorry; it's just that at the start of a new relationship, there's all this bonding going on, and you have to expect—_

 _Bill doesn't even want to LOOK at the ocean anymore,_ he whispered. _It's just... it's odd. Don't you ever notice? When we're in the chopper between locations, he turns his face away from the window when the water's on his side. I just think it's STRANGE, that's all._

I felt at a loss. _Well, maybe he's missing it, and wants to go back to it,_ I murmured. Prophetic statement number one, eh, Bills? _You know how people get when they can't have what they want; they pretend it doesn't matter, but really it's eating them up. Maybe we all ought to find a good time to— oh, fuck!_

_What?_

_His wetsuit's been in my boot for like, weeks. Fuck, no wonder he's unenthusiastic about surfing; he hasn't any gear to do it! You've just reminded me, Elwood; thanks._

_Well, give it back to him. I want the old Billy ASAP._ And with that, Elwood slid off the picnic bench and walked away, Lothlorien cloak flapping behind like grey mothwings.

That's why I was acting so mysterious tonight. While you were inside listlessly picking at your carton of shrimp in lobster sauce, I went to fetch your wetsuit out of my car. This was the second time I'd planned to make a grand presentation, one that would bring that cheeky glow of elfin joy back to your face. Such were my intentions, until I looked closer.

And when I looked closer, I had to look away. 

It was no contest; really. The first thought I had once I'd stopped shivering was this: _Sun'll be setting soon. Probably look amazing over the water._ Maybe by offering you a stunning sunset, I'd soften the blow I knew I deserved to get from you.

But when I dropped that oily black parcel down on the kitchen table in front of you, you didn't seem angry at all.

You laid down your chopsticks. Touched the black-rainbow surface of the sealskin with one fingertip. Closed your eyes. When you finally spoke, your voice was unexpectedly good-natured.

 _Very tricksy of you, Dom,_ you said.

 

The road to the beach points us directly into the sun. You are quiet beside me, hugging your second skin to your chest and humming. I realize now that you've haven't sung in a month. No creature would, in captivity.

Frankly, having expected fury, I can't believe how calm you sound. But then, you've got your skin, your self, your magic back. You know where to go and what to do with it. I've little doubt that I will not be as fortunate. In the old tales, once the selkie wins its skin back, the husband always gets the short end of the stick.

 _You're going to leave now, aren't you,_ I remark. _You're going to put that thing on and swim out to sea and never come back._

You snort. _With a movie to finish? Dominic Monaghan, what sort of person do ye take me for?_

 _I'm not sure,_ I confess. _I'm not sure what at all to take you for._

 _Rest assured, I am a professional. It's not as if this were my first acting job._ You peek sideways at me, waiting for me to take the bait.

_Okay, say it._

Secret o' Roan Inish, _of course. Third seal from the left._ Your snort turns into laughter, and I know you want me to laugh, too. But I simply can't.

 _So it's just for the sake of finishing the movie that you're not buggering off straight away,_ I whisper.

You turn to look at me, affection and lifeforce glimmering in those once-dull eyes. _Just shut it and get me to the beach, you,_ is your rebuttal.

 

The cove we're in is sheltered from sight by an outcropping of black rocks. You let the sealskin drop and turn to face me, a modest blush tinting your white skin. _Would ye--?_ you begin. _Would ye like to watch me, see me change? I've ne'er let anyone else._

You're shy, like a new lover, like a stranger, like... one of them.

 _Would ye?_ you ask again.

 _Yes,_ I say.

 _Then help me. I know you know how._ And your eyes glisten specially for me, and you smile as you always have when it's me you're looking at, and my heart swells with the futility of loving you when I find I don't really know who you are.

Unbuttoning you, stripping your clothes from you is like taking away your human skin and readying you for some irreversible process. Look at me; I'm already crying. I can't describe it. It's like you're going to die in front of me, and I won't know how to recognize you when you're reborn.

But you've always been able to read my thoughts, Bills. _Sssssh,_ you tell me, golden and terrible in the dying light. _It's just a temporary thing. I'll go for a swim, and then I'll come back. I promise, Dom. I'll come back, believe me. Don't move from this spot._

Then you pick up the sealskin, shake it out, and tell me, _Watch._

After a moment, I can do nothing but.

 

 _Are you glad you believed me?_ you ask.

Back on land, naked and out of your sealshape, you crowd me for warmth, laughing at my inability to wrap you in my jacket. You keep twitching out of my grasp, frisky thing. And me-- I'm floating somewhere between the sea and sky at what I've just witnessed. You end up having to ask me twice.

 _I don't understand,_ I blurt out. _Were the folklorists wrong? Every bit of research I've ever come across says that you ought to be miles away by now, looking over your shoulder and laughing your head off._

_Why would I leave you behind?_

_Because you're a selkie. Because your home is in the ocean. Because every selkie in every story I've ever heard waits for this chance and never looks back._

You nudge me with one fisted hand, wanting me to take something from you. I open my hand and into my palm you deposit a just-born crab, so new its shell is still mostly transparent. Fascinated, I watch it wave its tiny, underdeveloped claws at me; it's lovely, bizarre, something from an alien planet. And you're looking at my face the whole while, entranced by your world's enchantment over me and by the simple power of your gesture of welcome into it.

You slide your fast-warming lips up my cheek, and I feel the poke of your soft tongue in my ear. Arousal's springing to life for both of us, although for you -- unencumbered by clothing -- it's much more obvious.

 _This ocean is only one of my homes,_ you inform me, haughty. _Lovely, yes. But you are far lovelier._

 _How can you choose me over all this?_ I demand with a wave of my arm toward the water.

 _It’s easy,_ you say. _See?_

You lean close, and I can feel love radiating from you, a tropical-warm current lapping my shore.

 _Your eyes: the ocean,_ you tell me, looking deep. _Mmm. Stormy._

Your fingers twine in my hair. _Sargasso,_ you proclaim it.

 _Have I captured you?_ I whisper, remembering sargasso’s ship-entangling nature. _Are you trapped in me and can't get out?_

 _Don't be daft,_ you reply, clucking your tongue. _You’re shelter._

You draw me forward into you, slip otter-sleek into my arms. The minute I’ve got you tight, you let yourself go, held afloat and buoyed by me. The look of bliss on your face is like sunlight on the sea, dazzling my eye.

 _Now I am weightless in the water,_ you tell me.

You rise up, kiss me, then surface-- eyes ecstatic as you run the tip of your tongue around your lips. The sigh comes from so deep within, it sways me along with you.

 _Salt,_ is all you say.


End file.
